The Girl With the Card
by legheads-lament
Summary: Mad Queen. No real storyline, mostly fluff. An alternate take on Regina leaving her calling card for Jefferson in An Apple Red As Blood "28 years without seeing her, not just seeing but SEEING, touching, dominating. As if an addict could go back to their drug of choice for just a single hit. As if a man who's wandered the desert could be quenched by just a sip of water."


Title: The Girl With the Card  
Author: Nikayla  
Genre: Romance/Angst  
Pairing: Regina/Jefferson, Mad Queen  
Set During: Season 1, Episode 21  
Rating: PG-13/TV-14

That card set everything in motion. But you're in a different world now. And maybe it's time you had some control. Of all the fates she could have given you, remembering, remembering was what she chose. You used to bend to her every beck and call, back when she was barely more than a child and continued when she became nearly too powerful for her own good. She asked for this. Leaving that card. What did she think would happen? More importantly, what did you?

She's sitting at her desk and you have the gall or maybe the death wish to walk straight up to her, leaning over to a plant a kiss firmly on her lips. She pulls away almost instantly. "Jefferson what on earth are you doing?" She moves around to the front of her desk, organizing her papers but really just trying to shake off the feeling your kiss elicited. "I was merely saying hello majesty". You think back on when she used to let you kiss her, whenever you wanted. When magic glowed within her fingertips but you found more sinister and delicious spells could be worked with that mouth of hers. And you were the one to draw them out. You follow her now, turning her to face you, hands at her waist and then shoving everything backwards off her desk before lifting her onto it. Your hand immediately drops between her legs, just at her knees but it's enough. Enough to cause her head to go foggy, enough to stop her from killing you in an instant. You grip her right leg, thumb tracing circles on her thigh and your fingers starting to inch their way higher. Her eyes flutter and her lips part ever so slightly and you know you have her. Now take her. Lips at her throat causing her breath to catch. A hand at her hip, gripping her skin through fabric. You feel her heartbeat quicken and snicker because it's altogether too fast for her liking. She moves to push you away but you cling to her wrist and then bring her hand to your lips, pressing a chaste kiss to her fingers. Lingering just long enough for her eyes to take too long to blink again. But she still won't look at you. Make her. You drop her hand and bring yours to her jawline, thumb brushing her chin as you raise it up to meet your gaze. When she finally does you drag your thumb across her lips and slip your hand into her hair, holding her in place, and drop your lips down to hers. At first she doesn't respond, but it's short lived. You add the slightest bit of pressure behind your kiss and feel her steely demeanor soften and melt away as she allows you to kiss her. No one has kissed her in months and you think it a tragedy that her lips go unused. That irresistible pout should be worshipped often and savagely. You'd gladly be saddled with the task.

She needs this, you think; she's too tightly wound since that Swan flew into Storybrooke. She kisses you back. Long and slow ministrations, hands moving to encircle your neck. She's forgetting she wasn't okay with this, and you smile as her lips lay murder on your own. Your hand drops down to her leg again, pulling it up, your fingers dig in and she lets out the smallest sigh as you bring her closer. The other arm slides to her lower back pulling her closer still. Her name tumbles out almost against your will, husky and lust-ridden and her eyes fling open. She breaks the kiss now. Her eyes are searching and she's starting to realize where she is and who you are again. You don't want to lose your upper hand now so you kiss her harder and push her back onto the tabletop, crawling over her. Lips move to her neck again, breathing fire. Your hand drags up her leg and comes to rest at her ribs. Her breath is unsteady and you commend yourself when your teeth rake across her and feel it hitch in her throat. Her hand is at your chest but not pushing you away. Her fingers slowly gripping your shirt tighter and tighter. Then it's at your cheek pulling you back up to face her. She looks you dead in the eyes and even though she possesses no power here you fear she could have you blasted across the room any second. But she falters, her eyes drop to your lips and this time she initiates. It's a desperate kiss now. All ache and need. You're not sure why. Is she trying to lose herself to sate her need for contact with someone, anyone? Are you the pawn? Or does she actually want you that badly? You secretly wish it was the latter.

Your hand crashes down next to her head as you try to regain your balance. You float barely an inch above her but it's still not close enough. You pull away and off of her and her expression begins to frown. But you bring her with you and your hands play at each other's before your fingers interlace and she rises up to reach your lips once more. You start to walk her backwards so she stands on the toes of your boots, arms around your neck again. But instead you simply grab her waist and lift her up to wrap her legs around you. It takes next to no effort. Your hands slip under her shirt to splay out against her back. You barely break apart long enough to catch your breath, not wanting to stray from her lips for fear she'll snap back to reality again. You move to the arm chair to sit so she's straddling your lap. Your fingers start working at the bottom buttons of her blouse. One, two, three. Your hands dive under, gripping at her hips, pulling her down slightly. She breaks away for a moment at the surge of electricity that roars through her, her mouth dropping open as her eyes close at the contact. You start to kiss her neck again and your hands go back to unfastening the last few buttons of her shirt. Working your way down her neck to her clavicle, down another inch, and another. Torturously slow. Her hands wrap around your neck begging for more pressure but you don't oblige her. You continue on with even less pressure than before, just an exhale of breath and the faintest brush of your lips causing her skin to ache at the sensitivity. "Jefferson," she finally acknowledges your name again, and it spills out in a wayward whisper. You pull her blouse down off one shoulder, taking a teasing bite out of her. She turns her head angles her neck for you to lay your attention there, her body begging what her lips will not. You can't expect Mayor Regina to extend the same courtesies she did in FTL. She won't be laying out her wants or needs so plainly anymore. The mayoral life has left her enticingly albeit frustratingly buttoned up. Luckily you're adept in the delicacies of her body language. Or perhaps you're just adept at the only language her body responds to.

But now _you're_ starting to lose control. Little threads starting to fray, making it harder not to just ravage her and be done with it. But you're supposed to be teaching her a lesson aren't you? Breaking down her control, brick by brick disassembling her wall of emotional detachment. Don't give in.

But it's a perilous path you've tread down. 28 years without seeing her, not just seeing but _seeing_, touching, dominating. As if an addict could go back to their drug of choice for just a single hit. As if a man who's wandered the desert could be quenched by just a sip of water. So goes your resolve to drag this out much longer. That was your plan, wasn't it? Or better yet to end it altogether before she's satisfied. Make her unfurl beneath you and right when she gives in you're gone. Wasn't that your endgame? Wasn't it your turn to rile? All these thoughts and not one seems to make it to any part of your body. They're off on renegade missions and you're losing your own game. Lips kiss harder, hands move higher, trailing up her sides before they reach the hem of her bra, fingers brushing just under it. She sighs at your touch and some part of you feels good about pleasing her. Proud that you still know which buttons to push. You chide yourself for such foolish thoughts but it's not like you hear it anyway. Your mind is all a-fog, just looking at her sends the mists rolling in. You forget yourself. Which is something you haven't done in nearly 3 decades; escaped your own mental prison. Maybe you both needed this more than you care to admit. Maybe you should have done this years ago. Maybe you never should have stopped.

She sits up higher now, lips descending on yours and her arms on either side of your head, bracing on the back of the chair, giving in but not completely. Part of her still desperately trying to stop herself. One by one the pieces fall. First one hand moves behind your neck, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss. It's quickly followed by the other. She leans into you, pushing your back flush against the chair and kisses you so forcefully the front legs start to rise up off the ground and you almost lose balance. You abruptly lurch forward and push her back, preventing you from toppling backwards. She gasps and her eyes lock on to yours. Wordlessly you lift her again and set her down on the coffee table, kneeling in front of her. Your hands grip her thighs. Strong fingers squeezing at the muscles there. Her elbows rest at your shoulders as she melts into your kiss. You reach up taking her hands and moving her arms off of you, pulling her shirt down and finally ridding her of it completely. With that you pull her to you, arms wrapped around her back, caressing her soft skin. Her hands wander to your jeans, freeing your shirt from them. Nimble fingers undo button after button and you haven't an ounce of restraint left to slow her. It seems you're both wrought with pure and thoughtless need, neither in control anymore, just deliriously pressing on, your bodies commanding while your minds haze over completely.

She smells incredible. Like she always did. You bury your face in her neck taking in the scent of her skin, her hair. It's short now, with ends that flip outward. You were always intrigued by her long, flowing curls but now without the risk of getting tangled in it you can run your fingers through it much easier. It's as soft as it ever was. All of her is. You remember when she was just 18, losing Daniel and diving head first into dark magic. You were part of her downfall. And you never quite forgave yourself for that. Maybe that's why when she wed the King you found any excuse to see her, take her away from everything even if only for a few stolen moments. You showed her worlds she couldn't even imagine. And she returned the favor in her own way. She was delicate when you met her. And remained that way with you. She was fiery and she was strong and she held all the power to hurt anything and anyone but she never let it out on you. She let you be in control. You were her escape from what she'd become. Maybe that's why she left you in Wonderland. You promised you'd always be there, that you'd never leave her, but you did. You met someone, someone else, and you barely had the decency to tell her. You had a child and you were in love and she had nothing. Her hate grew up through her bones, snaking through her ribs, suffocating her organs but most of all, her heart. There was a time you did everything to preserve that heart. But as it fell black and her walls shot up around her you weren't there, you were the final straw she couldn't afford to have break and keep any semblance of herself. You doomed her. And so she doomed you. She left you like you left her. She certainly held tight to that "an eye for an eye" sentiment didn't she? She was lost in the throes of her hate, as you were lost in your madness. Being kept from your daughter, one of the very reasons for her being left alone, in a child's mind, and Regina truly was always a child to you, it couldn't be seen any other way. There was no other justice. She fell, and kept falling, with no one there to catch her. Down the rabbit hole. It dawns on you now that even bereft of your sanity you still feel like you owe her. More than you could ever give her. She deserves that stolen childhood back. Free from magic, free from fear, free to love and be loved. You can't give her these things. No one can. But here and now maybe you both deserve to lose yourselves, to push those memories away that have long resided and decayed in your minds. Maybe you deserve each other. 28 years and it's only coming clear now? You'll say you were waiting for her to make the first move. But you know it isn't true. Anger clouds, madness drowns, til there's not a clear, unstrangled thought left. Until a simple card snaps you back and draws you here. And so here you are.

You pull back from her, and she's herself again. And so are you. She smiles at you and you're back in her castle, in some lonely darkened corridor confessing everything you feel in a single kiss. Trying to whiteout her memory. Trying to give her something to bring her out of the spiral. Pulling at the layers of her skirts, and humming into her skin. Wishing you could just throw down your hat and steal her away completely. But then it's over and as she smooths out the folds of her dress and kisses you one last time, until next time, she leaves you and her walls build back up, trying to shield her heart. But even as tall as they were, somehow they were still a far cry from the skyscrapers she had when she walked through that mirror without you. By then they were too high for anyone to scale, and she wasn't about to clear a single brick for anyone either. If it weren't for Grace you'd have taken that punishment without a second thought. After what you did, after what she lost, she could have done so much worse. Maybe she had taken a brick down after all.

You bring your hands to her face, thumbs gliding across her cheeks, as you come out of your reverie. Her eyes start to question you, and when you kiss her now it isn't rough or messy, it's a forgetting kiss, still trying to will her memories away. But she remembers. She will always remember. Fortunately for you she still remembers how you were before too. When you were the closest thing she had to love, or safety, and for a minute she no longer hates you. You bring her down to you, lying on your back with her floating just above you. It's then that you feel her heartbeat again. It has a cadence all its own, but it beats and it's real and it still lives within her chest. Her walls momentarily cracked, slivers of light finding their way in. The vines receding. It is a red heart, a blood pumping, chest thumping, real heart. And it's enough reason to have come out of your cave today. Even if only for a moment, a redeemed heart beats in both your chests. Thump thump. Thump thump.


End file.
